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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684953">The Trans Jo Fic of my dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacepen/pseuds/peacepen'>peacepen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vienna [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Little Women (1994), Little Women (2017), Little Women (2018), Little Women (2019), Little Women - Howland/Dickstein/Knee, Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Don't Examine This Too Closely, Friedrich is a mess, Jo is too but at least he's like, M/M, Poorly written, Starbucks meetings, This is not how college jobs work, This started as trans jo thought dump and ended with Bhaer because I love him too much, Trans Jo March, Trans Male Character, Wow AO3 had to go dead name My jo like that., Written Out Of Desperation For Trans Jo Content, organized in terms of papers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:55:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacepen/pseuds/peacepen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>hello. I have written this in a tired and sad state. Jo has internal transphobia so be careful for that. other than that I think its pretty trigger free? </p><p>I just want to pass and have professor bhaer rescue me from my sad and poor life. this is not too much to ask?</p><p>ill probably come back and edit this tomorrow to make it have a more coherent theme or whatever. but the point is that professor Bhaer never says shit about jo being trans, because he is awesome and beautiful and a unicorn in this life.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vienna [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Trans Jo Fic of my dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello. I have written this in a tired and sad state. Jo has internal transphobia so be careful for that. other than that I think its pretty trigger free? </p><p>I just want to pass and have professor bhaer rescue me from my sad and poor life. this is not too much to ask?</p><p>ill probably come back and edit this tomorrow to make it have a more coherent theme or whatever. but the point is that professor Bhaer never says shit about jo being trans, because he is awesome and beautiful and a unicorn in this life.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> If not now, when? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Standing in the coffee line, Jo worked <strike>herself</strike> himself into an anxious mess. Over a latte. More importantly, over who the latte was for. Could <strike>s</strike>he really say ‘Jo’ and have that be the end of it? <strike>S</strike>he didn’t think <strike>s</strike>he could bear any needless questioning...But then <strike>s</strike>he thought of how it felt to say ‘Josephine’ and move on, and how much better it might feel to say ‘Jo’ instead. If he did not start now, he would never start. <em> I’ll say it, yes, I’ll say it now, </em> he thought, <em> I’ll say ‘An Americano for Jo, please’ and that will be the end of it. </em> But was that believable? Was the please necessary, would a man say please? He didn’t want to be a <em> rude </em>man, but if it came down to pleasantries or passing…</p><p> </p><p>The ‘please’ would stay. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, and <strike>her</strike> his father said please. He brought her attention to his voice next. How could he deepen it, or at least get rid of that feminine lilt? Testosterone was not currently an option, and he’d read that trying to force it might damage the vocal cords, but he was <em>stubborn</em> and would be damned if he didn’t at least try. </p><p>Underneath his breath, he practiced trying to make it sound natural. </p><p>‘<em> An Americano for Jo, please’  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> <b> <em>An Americano for Jo, please!’ </em> </b></p><p> </p><p><strike>S</strike>he settled on a slower pacing, without stretching the voice too far. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, planning goes to shit in the moment. </p><p> </p><p>When he approached the service desk, instead of going straight to his order, the cashier asked him how he was. He didn’t prepare for that, and a bright and high ‘Good, and you?’ tumbled out of his lips. He clenched his jaw and did his best to continue with his order as planned, but the plan had been blown. ‘<em> It’ll be ready for you at the end of the bar, ma'am.’ </em> The barista said. <em> Ma’am. </em> Did he look like a ma’am? Had he <em> ever </em>looked like a ma’am? </p><p> </p><p>He sighed as he walked from the counter to a table. He couldn’t be mad, really. It wasn’t the poor barista’s fault he wasn’t right. </p><p>He buried his head in his arms, against the table, and didn’t care to listen for his name being called out. He might as well just drop the charade. It was never going to work out for him, things would be easier if he just called himself a lesbian and left it at that. </p><p> </p><p>His wallowing was interrupted by someone approaching the table, and the polite clearing of a throat. ‘Excuse me, uh, Mr. March?’ </p><p><em> Oh, God. </em>He’d forgotten he’d written the stupid name on his application for a T.A position. It was some foolish, hopeful move. But now, it was clear to him that this was a mistake that might even cost him a job. </p><p><em> Great. I’m going to be a queer disaster </em> <b> <em>and </em> </b> <em> homeless.  </em></p><p> </p><p><b>‘</b>Jo March?’ The voice asked again. German. That’s right, he’s from Germany, but teaches writing. Mrs. Kirk had called him a real nerd for that, for teaching writing and literature in a language that wasn't even his own. It was like being a reading obsessed kid with extra steps. </p><p> </p><p>Jo lifted his head up, finally, and straightened himself out as best he could. ‘Sorry, yes. That’s me, I’m Jo March.’ </p><p> </p><p>The german smiled, and began setting his bags down next to the table. ‘Oh, good, good! I am, as you know, Professor Friedrich Bhaer.’ </p><p> </p><p>‘Professor Bhaer.’ He nodded. They’d spoken some over emails already, to arrange this meeting, but Jo was unsure of how this interaction would unfold. The best possible outcome he could see was something that didn’t end in a hatecrime. </p><p> </p><p>‘Now, um, you come...greatly recommended by Mrs. Kirk, but I do need to get a better grasp of your skills. How many years of German do you have?’ The Professor piddled on as he pulled a laptop and a few papers from the unorganized pit of his bag. He didn’t make much eye contact with Jo, and he found that somehow comforting. </p><p> </p><p><em> German? Mrs. Kirk didn’t say anything about German. </em>Jo felt his face flush as he sputtered ‘Oh, none, sir.’ </p><p> </p><p>That drew the Professor’s complete attention. He looked Jo straight in the eyes, balking. ‘None? You have studied nothing?’ </p><p> </p><p>‘I was told you were looking for a T.A for creative writing.’ Well, at least when this meeting was over, he could blame the failure on never taking German and not his gender. </p><p> </p><p>‘Oh. No, that is not correct.’ He frowned. ‘No, the position available is for a <em> personal assistant. </em>I need the extra hands in all of my classes. Not just the English writings.’ </p><p> </p><p>Jo needed to find a way to save this, and fast. A job assisting in a language he knew nothing about was less than ideal, but he needed the money if he wanted to continue school away from home. </p><p>‘What exactly do you need help in? I was an office aide in highschool, and I’m a very fast learner.’ He took a glance at the messy bag. It might come across as bold or rude to mention it, but it was also his biggest chance. </p><p>‘Organizing is one of my strong suits.’ </p><p> </p><p>Bhaer gave him a confused look, like he didn’t know how the conversation came to this. </p><p> </p><p>‘It doesn’t seem to be one of yours.’ </p><p> </p><p>He sputtered, shocked at Jo’s frankness. But Jo kept going, he just couldn’t stop himself. </p><p>‘I’m not trying to be rude, Professor, but it’s obvious you could use some help on that front. Do you even know what all of those papers are?’ </p><p> </p><p>The professor pursed his lips, then admitted ‘No’. </p><p> </p><p>‘Well, we’ll set up an organizing system for them in your office. I can transcribe them, put them on your computer. I know little tricks for getting things back where they belong. My sister, Amy, she’s terrible, like you. But I know how to help! And… And  Mrs. Kirk said you’re slow in connecting to online learning!’ </p><p> </p><p>Bhaer kept opening his mouth to speak, but Jo barreled on. </p><p> </p><p>‘That’s okay! Your generation just wasn’t raised with it! I can -’ </p><p> </p><p>The professor’s eyes widened and he just <em> had </em>to object. ‘I am only thirty five!’ </p><p> </p><p>That finally caused Jo to pause. ‘Really?’ He asked. ‘Well, you look much older.’ </p><p>His cheeks burned at his own social faux pas as he sank back into his seat. He didn’t even realize he’d gotten up. </p><p> </p><p>‘Mr. March, while I appreciate your...enthusiasm and...willingness to help me in my many faults, which you have just reminded me of,’ He was speaking lower, like you would talk to a wild animal. ‘This does not change the fact that you <em> do not speak German. </em>Half of my course load!’ He gestured to his laptop and bag, ‘Is German!’ </p><p> </p><p>‘Google Translate is very advanced these days.’ Jo snapped. ‘And what I don’t know, you can teach me. Like I said, I’m a quick learner. And I’ll work hard.’ He paused to take a breath, ‘Would I have said all that if I wasn’t willing to work hard?’ </p><p> </p><p>There was a long beat of silence, as they held painful eye contact. Friedrich’s eyes roved over Jo, considering his whole existence, while Jo stared him down. </p><p> </p><p>‘I will admit, you are passionate.’ He again took a moment of consideration, but continued speaking with a smirk. ‘ You’re setting yourself up for a tough semester, handling materials in a language you know nothing of, attaching yourself to the <em> terribly messy, terribly old -’  </em></p><p>‘I never said you were <em> terribly </em>old!’ </p><p> </p><p>‘I believe it was implied.’ Bhaer snickered. </p><p> </p><p>‘That’s slander.’ Jo huffed. They sat in silence again, but this time it was warm. Comfortable. Jo hadn’t felt that way since he left home. Since he cut his hair and changed his name. But, being the terrible, rotten little goblin boy he was, he had to speak again. It was like an itch he needed to scratch. <em> Yes, yes this is nice. </em> His brain insisted, <em> but it’s fragile. If it breaks, we need to be the one doing it. </em> <b> <em>We </em> </b> <em> need to be in control, here.’  </em></p><p> </p><p>‘So? Are you going to pay me to harass you every day?’ </p><p> </p><p>Bhaer chuckled again. He liked the noise. </p><p> </p><p>‘I suppose, as I am a glutton for punishment. I will see you Monday.’ </p><p> </p><p>Jo sighed with relief. Finally, <em> finally, </em>his stubborn drive had paid off. </p><p> </p><p>‘Monday, then? At your office?’ </p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, yes. I will send you the address. You are going to hate it.’ Bhaer smiled at the thought as he gathered his belongings to leave. </p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll hate it?’ </p><p> </p><p>‘Mein Büro ist Kabelsalat.’ </p><p> </p><p>‘What the fuck does that mean?’ Jo asked, hopelessly, but the Professor was already gone. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>German translation - My office is a cable salad (literally). It just means a big fat mess, it doesn't actually need to be a mess of cables. Google translate doesn't include the salad part but I know one singular German and he said the salad part. checkmate google. fuck u. its my party and there will be fucking cable salad. </p><p>too tired to put links. my Tumblr is currently transjohnadams but it changes sometimes so just watch out. you can look at the other links in my other fics if its important to u. </p><p>take care</p></blockquote></div></div>
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